


Volte Face

by Camelittle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Vehicle Crash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28260885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: As a leading proponent of the Anti-Magic League, Arthur Pendragon desperately tries to ensure that the counter-demonstration to the Magical Pride march remains peaceful and respectful. In failing, he discovers that his loyalties may be misplaced. Written for the Tumblr Merthur Week 2020 day 3: Prompt “You’re Hurt! Let me heal it." & hurt/comfort
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 84
Collections: Hurt/Comfort Bingo - Round 11, Merthur Week 2020





	Volte Face

**Author's Note:**

> Also fills the “vehicle crash” square on my 2020 h/c bingo card.

“No More Magic!” Arthur cries, echoing the words on his placard. 

Unlike some of the Anti-Magic League, people like his father and Val, Arthur wishes people with magical abilities no harm. He just wants them to stop practicing their arcane arts and endangering the rest of the public, that’s all. Why is that so hard to understand? Using magic is a choice, and people who make the wrong choices need to be punished, yes, but they are still people. 

Over on a passing float, a Magical Pride marcher decked in shimmering material the colour of midnight sends sparks up from his fingers, creating a fiery dragon. Its flames reach Arthur, making him flinch, but they bear no heat. The marcher lifts his chin, and turns to Arthur, eyes flashing defiant gold as the light from the dragon highlights his sharp, fey cheekbones. And then the eyes settle to a familiar, ocean blue. 

Recognition floods through Arthur and he shivers, suddenly cold.

The man cloaked in midnight blinks at him. Something almost regretful flits across his face as their gazes lock. But just as suddenly, the moment is gone and the man lets out a brittle laugh. 

“Bring back magic!” he yells, his voice amplified somehow - with magic, no doubt. “Down with the AML!” 

Flushing, embarrassed and humiliated at being caught unawares, Arthur sets his jaw into a grim line and lifts his placard higher. 

“No More Magic!” he shouts back, voice faltering at first but then strengthening. He puts his discomfort aside in a show of fervour designed for the media, for his father, even as his heart races and his stomach twists with his sense of betrayal. “Keep Camelot Safe!”

“Bloody animals,” Val sneers by his side. “We should round the lot up and shoot them.” 

Arthur bites back a snarl at Val’s casual brutality, and fights to find the words to respond without giving himself away. Even though he’s still trembling with surprise and his legs feel like water, he knows better than to dehumanise magic users. They’re not animals. They’re people, albeit misguided, and citizens of Camelot. They need reeducating, that’s all. He’s just opening his mouth to explain this to Val when it happens - so quickly that he has no time to react. There’s an odd noise like a rapidly approaching swarm of bees over to his right, and a panicky roar from the crowd. By the time Arthur swivels his head to understand what might be happening, a twin pair of headlights blinds him, shockingly close. A horn blares. An engine roars. The van is heading straight for the float of defiant, magic-bedecked people. An AML flag adorns its bonnet. 

The magic user cloaked in midnight turns and raises a hand. Arthur can see the whites of his eyes, round and terrified. 

“No!” Arthur yells, distraught. Terror grips him and shakes him like a drug as the van continues its remorseless journey. Not him! Never him! “Not like this! We discussed this! It’s a peaceful counterprotest.” 

But he’s alone among his compatriots. Val even cheers as the van starts to mount the pavement. 

With an abruptness born of fright, Arthur hurls himself at the still moving van, battering it with his fists in a vain attempt to slow it down. There’s a sickening, dull thud close behind him. He has heard that sound before. The sound of a body hitting a vehicle, hard. 

A kaleidoscope of sparks and city lights whirl around his blurred vision, and something cold and unyielding crunches against the side of his face. Now he understands. The body hitting the van is his. 

“Arthur!” screams a familiar (beloved) voice laced with panic and heartbreak. “Arthur, no! Dear Goddess, no! Not Arthur!” 

Abruptly, the sounds of the city slow and dim to a soft burr then silence. Arthur blinks up at the vast blue arc of the sky. A bird hangs there, motionless. He goes to lift one hand, but it doesn’t obey him. It flops, limp and lifeless by his side. That will hurt, later, he thinks inconsequentially. 

“Arthur,” someone sobs.

All other sound has stopped. Something soft brushes against his face like a caress. 

Moistening suddenly dry lips, Arthur peers up at the face that swims over his. A pair of eyes shine down at him, pregnant with unshed tears. 

“Merlin,” he croaks.

“You absolute clotpole.” Shaky fingers arrange Arthur’s unresponsive arm across his chest and he cries out at the sudden jarring pain that shoots through him. “You’re hurt. Let me heal it.” 

“You’re a magic user,” Arthur says almost wonderingly, the pain beginning to send him urgent messages that cloud his ability to think, to make sense of all this. 

“And you’re a clotpole. Now, let me heal you.” Blue eyes meet his, serious and deadly. 

“All this time, Merlin, and I never knew.” 

“Yeah, well, Mr I’m-An-Important-AML-Activist Pendragon! I could hardly go round shouting it out every time you gave me a blow job could I? How would that sound, hmm? Oh, yes Arthur! Right there, Arthur! I’m a magic user, Arthur!” Merlin tutted and rolled his eyes. “Huh. Clotpole!” 

“Idiot.” There’s no heat in Arthur’s voice. So Merlin’s a magic user. He should care about that, but he can’t think why. Too much pain is seeping through his bones, sapping his will and his ability to think. He shifts his weight a little, and it makes agony shoot through his belly. He hisses through his teeth and a wave of dizziness passes over him. 

A gentle finger strokes his cheek, bringing him back to the present. 

“You’re hurt,” blurts Merlin again, ashen-faced and urgent-voiced. “No, don’t move your head! Where does it hurt? Tell me and I’ll fix it!”

“What did you do?” Not answering the question, Arthur tries to gauge his surroundings. It’s difficult without moving his head. “Why is no-one moving?” 

“Hmm? Oh, I stopped time,” says Merlin impatiently, as if that is nothing. “Now, just tell me where it hurts, clotpole!”

“Everywhere,” whispers Arthur. His vision is blurring now and he wonders if he’s losing a lot of blood, because his head swims and a big black blot starts to fill his field of view. 

“Arthur! Stay with me!” Merlin lets out an anguished cry. He always has been a sentimental sap. 

“Well get on with it then, idiot,” Arthur murmurs. His eyelids droop. So heavy. 

Merlin whispers then, shaky at first, then stronger, a stream of sibilant syllables falling from his mouth as he speaks, his voice imbued with an odd inflection. 

A weight settles on Arthur’s chest. Warmth radiates from it, as if along the spokes of a wheel. It sends intense pain before it that makes Arthur scream, helpless in its grip, but then in its wake comes a profound sense of love, of peace and wellbeing, like the euphoria that falls on him after he has pushed himself hard in training. It courses around him, making his skin tingle and his body flex. And then, as abruptly as it started, it’s gone, and with it all the pain. 

He flexes the now-healed fingers of his damaged hand in wonder, and brings it up to touch the line of Merlin’s cheek, streaked as it is with tears.

“Never do that to me again, clotpole,” sniffs Merlin, dashing at his eyes with the backs of his hands before grabbing Arthur’s hand between both of his and bestowing damp, fervent kisses on it. 

Wondering, Arthur brings his other hand up to touch Merlin’s face. 

Abruptly, the sights and sounds of London come crashing back. The van is still there, surrounded by shouting demonstrators, and a swarm of police are pulling out the driver. A flash goes off and a TV camera swivels towards Arthur. 

With as much dignity as he can muster, given the circumstances, Arthur stands up, slowly to avoid fainting, and brushes his hands down his clothes. There’s an ominous, dark puddle on the ground where he had been lying. Blood, he thinks distantly. His blood. 

He was dying, and Merlin healed him. With magic.

Looking up again, Arthur meets the piggy-eyed, hate-filled gaze of Val, whose face contorts with disgust, mouth twisting in an ugly sneer. And then he looks back at Merlin, whose eyes are soft with concern and wet with unshed tears. Merlin who healed him, despite the fact that they were on different sides of a protest, despite the fact that his friends had been attacked. Merlin with his bright smile and selfless soul, whose healing touch felt a little like magic and a lot like love. 

Arthur swallows and makes an easy decision. He picks up his fallen, bloodstained AML placard and looking up at the camera, breaks it over his knee. 

“Seems I was wrong about magic users,” he says, to the camera, feeling slightly hysterical as he ducks beneath a police cordon, with Merlin trailing after him, approaching the waiting arc of round eyed magical rights activists. They stare as Arthur bends and picks up another placard - this one bedecked in dragons and unicorns and bearing the legend “Bring back magic.” 

Slowly, he lifts this placard aloft. He smiles at Merlin. Merlin smiles back, eyes shining with wonder, head dipping slightly in tacit acknowledgment. 

Arthur turns to the camera. 

“Bring back magic!” Arthur says vehemently, brandishing his placard like a weapon.

**Author's Note:**

> These are not my characters, and I'm not getting paid for this work


End file.
